


Forbidden Touch

by Gremlin_of_Space



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: 13 plays The Master, 1960’s, 60’s, Alternate Universe - Roleswap AU, Angst, Author regrets nothing, Concentration Camps, F/F, Jodie Whittaker is The Master (Doctor Who), LGBTQ Character, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Themes, Lesbians, Masturbation, Mentions of Rape, Murder, Murder Plot, Murder Wives, Rape/Non-con - Freeform, Romance, Smut, Swearing, The Master is the Timeless Child, Whittaker!Master - Freeform, asshole husband, everything gets real gay real quick, it gets dark real quick, reference to Holocaust, reference to Nazi germany and France, the Master needs a hug, the husband is a misogynistic prick who we all want to die, they’re all in this together, wet dreams
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:55:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gremlin_of_Space/pseuds/Gremlin_of_Space
Summary: The Master has been on Earth for about two decades now and she has never, ever gotten involved with a human. Then she met Michaela Richards, a woman who has homicidal views towards her husband, and for good reasons. Well, the Master couldn’t back away from a good murder now can she?Along with new found “friends”, the Master and Michaela work together to plot out a watertight murder whilst romance blossoms in the American woods.——————My tumblr group, Whittaker!Master Whores hyped me up to do this. You’re welcome.https://pin.it/1V2tY7RA mood board by MCMLXIII (theaussietimelord)
Relationships: The Master/Original Character, The Master/Original Female Character, Thirteenth Doctor/Original Character(s), Thirteenth Doctor/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheAussieTimelord](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAussieTimelord/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no life so this’ll get updated whenever. 
> 
> Edited: 19/4/2020 grammar. Courtesy of TheAussieTimelord

To say the Master was tired was an understatement. She’d spent twenty gruelling years on a god forsaken planet with, in her opinion, one of the worst fucking parasitic species in the entire universe (just below Gallifreyans for obvious Timeless Child related reasons). She’d travelled the world, drunk her sorrows away for a half a decade, she even helped start a few movements and riots whilst avoiding the Doctor of course. They always seemed to be bouncing around somewhere and the Master was tired of having to hide away, constantly moving about.

Money wasn’t an issue, all it took was some good old fashion thievery and she was oh so good at stealing. It was getting documentation that was a problem. The Master has learnt the hard way after Nazi Germany that legal documents stating her (fake) identity was the only thing keeping her safe from Earth authorities. Forgery takes time to get it perfect and some of the apes had gotten pretty bloody good at identifying fakes. That’s why she had been in America for about five years, unable to acquire the materials (she was a woman! What would she know) that would allow her to travel back to Europe. The Master had hoped to spice things up along the iron curtain but, a relaxing holiday in a hotel in the middle of the woods did sound quite nice. 

Turns out, it would be a very nice holiday indeed. 

-/-/-/-

Michaela Richards-nee-Owens had been married to her husband for about two years now. He was forty-three years old and she…she was only twenty-five! Michaela was in her second year of university in a women’s college in Oxford (she had wanted to be an archeologist) when her father had announced that she would be married to a family friend. She had essentially been used as pawn in a game for money and she couldn’t even get out of it. Michaela had been isolated, her friends were daughters of her mothers friends, all she knew was family. Hell! She only got into the University because her mother had gone there. She knew nobody that’d take her in and hide her if she ran away. And so, two years ago, she had walked down the aisle with dread in her belly and had lost her virginity to a man that was callous and rough. 

She had a little interest in men sexually before being married off but after that night, she was thoroughly disgusted. If she was allowed to speak her mind and act in the way she wanted, she’d never let that man anywhere near her. But no. He took her bi-weekly until six months into their marriage, she was pregnant. It made her happy for a while, she wouldn’t feel so alone but then Michaela realised that she’d be tied to a man she did not have any feelings, forever.

She was glad when she had miscarried. She should’ve felt devastated and a part of her did, she had lost something that she had carried for three months, a little bump had started to grow and yet, after all the pain and blood, she felt freed. Freed from a future she did not want. Michaela made sure that that wouldn’t happen again by secretly buying and using the Pill. It was risky, as her husband would throw a fit if he found out but she did it and it had been working for the past year and a half. Her husband had been trying again and again for another baby but she did not carry. He blamed the stress of city life and the ongoing Cold War and booked them a three month long retreat to the American countryside. 

The flight made her anxious. Too cramped and too long and the small glass of wine she had drank to calm her mind did nothing but give her a bad headache. She needed a cigarette badly but she had run out and her husband wasn’t much of a smoker unlike the other men his age. All he did during the flight was keep a hand on her knee, trying to slide his hand higher underneath her dresss. Michaela had promptly crossed her legs and shifted away. How dare he try that in public! 

Maybe, just maybe she could get rid of him? He had made her life a misery, isolating her from people outside her family, showing her off on his arm with a sick gleam, boasting to his friends just how young she is and how pretty she was. He’d leave her his money and she’d be free to do whatever she wanted. 

Michaela didn’t think at all before coming to a conclusion; the resort in the woods would be the perfect setting. 

-/-/-/-

The hotel that the Master had chosen was quite lovely even if it is a human hotel. In the winter, it opens its door to skiers and snow seekers whilst in the autumn, people only came for peace and quite. The more adventurous activities the hotel offered wouldn’t run so there wasn’t much excitement. Plus, Thanksgiving also existed, meaning families would be spending time together in their own homes rather than go for a week long trip. Thankfully, the hotel would still be running during Thanksgiving so the Master booked a room for the entire Fall. A lot of people do that, you know, and anyway, the Master wasn’t feeling up to trying to find another apartment where people constantly asked questions about her marital status. Jesus, humans could be so close minded sometimes. It’s the bloody 60s. Not every woman had to be married. 

The Master chose to drive up in her ‘64 Ford Mustang convertible, foregoing a head scarf and letting the wind ruffle hair hair as she drove over the speed limit. Her mustang was cherry red and she knew she’d miss it when she moved on but for now, she’ll enjoy the smooth ride and the beautiful scenery with the radio on at full volume. After Germany in ‘44, the Master had learnt to enjoy the simple things in life such as the smell of freshly ground coffee and the feeling of the sun on your face. Who knows what will happen in the future. 

She turned off on the highway onto a single road that took her into the forest at the bottom of the mountain range. The road would climb and then fall, twisting around a lake like snake around it’s clutch. There were a few boats on the lake already and if the Master looked hard enough, she’d see the impressive hotel at the far end of the lake. Her lips cracked a smile and she sped on. 

Overall, it took the Master about an hour from the nearest town to the hotel. It truly was an isolated spot. The hotel itself was big and grande and robust, built to withstand snow storms, solid brick walls in a curving design. It was at least 8 storeys high and was even longer. The Master drove up to the entrance, grabbing her handbag as she stepped out of the car. A luggage boy immediately attended to her, carefully collecting the Master’s several suitcases and trunks. She walked her way towards the valet, tossing him the keys along with a thinly veiled threat of destruction if there was a single scratch on her car. The man shook and she smiled. Ahhh, intimidating humans is always fun. 

Stepping into the lobby, the Master enjoyed the quietness. She checked into her room and made her way over to the bar as the luggage boy delivered her suitcases to her room, ordering a whiskey whilst she observed her surroundings. The whole hotel was a mixture of rustic wood cabin and the Ritz, a chaotic but pleasant mix. The furniture, including the barstool the Master sat on, was a dark leather with mahogany. The floor was marble and the walls were painted a warm gold. Red and green was spotted throughout in the form of rugs, blankets and cushions. A large log fireplace was on, gently heating up the bar area. The Master sighed, gently closing her eyes and enjoying the sounds of gentle chatter and a crackling fire. 

Then the rich man came in. Something made him throw a right fit, complaining about how he’d make sure every staff member in the establishment would get fired. Oh how very American. A woman walked in his shadow, a nervous energy following her. She didn’t even try to intervene, just placed a gentle hand on the mans arm and said something to him before walking towards the bar. She looked very tense and very stressed. 

“Can I have a martini please,” she spoke gently in a British accent, a quietness that the Master knew a girl her age in this decade shouldn’t have. She perked up and started to analyse the newcomer; beehive hairstyle, baby pink dress with matching kitten-heel shoes and little white gloves that went to her wrist. Ah, the wife then but she’s so young compared to him. There was a loud commotion in the background and the woman winced, “scratch that give me a whiskey. Put it on the tab, please. Room 457”. The bartender nodded and moved to grab a bottle. The woman slumped down slightly on her barstool and gently rubbed her forehead in a weak attempt to ease a headache. 

“So I finally meet a fellow Britain in this god forsaken country?” said the Master in her usual cool tone. The woman seemed startled, having obviously zoned out whilst she waited for her drink. She turned head and gave a small, beautiful smile. The Master suddenly had this strong urge to see that smile over and over again before she squashed it. No humans. Do not get involved with humans. 

Eh, fuck it. This could be entertaining. 

-/-/-/-

As the bartender left to get her her drink, Michaela slipped into her own thoughts. Her husband getting into a right old tizzy because there was one scratch on his leather suitcase (which obviously came from the airport not from the poor luggage boy) only strengthened her resolve in killing him. He had a weak heart so she could subtly change his medication but then that would obviously put the blame on her. Scare him into a heart attack? No, it’d take a lot of effort. God, all of her ideas would end up either being too complicated or leave her in jail. She just wanted his money so she could start a new life away from everybody she currently knew. She just wanted to be free. 

“So I finally meet a fellow Britain in this god forsaken country?” the cool northern accent startled Michaela and she turned her head. Oh holy sweet Mary mother of Jesus, the woman sitting next to her was beautiful. Curled blond bob, rose coloured lips twisted in an almost flirty smirk and her eyes...oh good lord her eyes. Hazel irises screaming mischief, eyeing her up and down. Michaela returned the scrutiny. 

The bartender placed a filled glass next to the empty one and Michaela reached for her handbag that was on the floor. She needed to take the pill now as she hadn’t been able to earlier in the day. God, she hoped she hadn’t missed it completely. Michaela discreetly popped it from its foil and, along with some aspirin, swallowed it dry before knocking back her whiskey.

“I don’t think you’re meant to take that with alcohol,” commented the woman and Michaela glared. The woman seemed unfazed. “I’m Harriet, by the way. Harriet Saxon but you,” she leaned in close, “you can me Harry.” She had this feral grin on her face and her arm nonchalantly brushed Michaela’s. 

“Michaela! Our room is ready,” boomed a loud, obnoxious man. Oh, great, the husband is back from making staff members cry. He probably forced them to give us a discount. Asshole. 

“Fuck me,” she groaned and stood up, hands clenching around her handbag. She turned and stared at Harriet straight in the eye. “I’m Michaela Richards but my friends call me Mickey…if I had any anyway.” She mumbled the last bit and walked towards her husband, trying to appear happy when all she wanted to do was to slice his fucking neck open. 

Mickey didn’t see the slightly shocked look on Harry’s face.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! REFERENCES TO:
> 
> HOLOCAUST  
> CONCENTRATION CAMPS  
> RAPE  
> VIOLENCE
> 
> If you do not wish to read flashbacks of this, please skip to “-/-/-/-“.  
> There is two sentences after that that do heavily imply rape
> 
> Stay safe

Breakfast was in an hour and the Master had woken up hours before hand, Timeless genetics and all that meant that she didn’t need sleep very often. For once, she looked forward to spending an hour eating and having idle chit chat about the weather. She’d see the enigma which was Michael ‘Mickey’ Richards.

Last night, when Mickey had been summoned by her husband to their room, the Master had caught a brief glimpse into her mind. The brushing of arms had allowed the Master to sneakily create a small connection between them, just enough to gage the woman’s character but it had given her some delightful and yet worrying information. Mickey, Mickey oh innocent, baby pink Mickey wanted to commit homicide. It wasn’t the fleeting thought of “oh this person is so annoying I want to strangle them”, it was the “I will actually strangle them, with my bare hands and throw their body in lake” kind of thought. Real murder.

But what was worrying was the reason for murder. The Master had noticed a dichotomy in Mickey’s personality. When the Master introduced herself, Mickey seemed to be lively and actually human, assertive and yet gentle but when she was around her husband, it was a complete switch. She became robot-like. Her body movements programmed to what her husband wanted and her attitude all too fake. Anybody who observed Mickey in two different scenarios would notice some discrepancies and alarms bells would start ringing. Was this husband that much of an asshole that it warranted his murder?

Yes, yes he was and the Master would be more than willing to play a part in his death.  
In hindsight, an hour probably wasn’t enough time to shower, get dressed and do her makeup. She needed to spend the whole breakfast period in the dining roomif she was to catch a glimpse of Mickey. It’d only take about three days to work out her schedule and from there the Master could work out the husband’s routine. After having a brisk shower, the Master sat down at the vanity, a silk kimono style gown wrapped around her. As she held up an eyeshadow pallets of green and brown, brush ready to gather pigment, her left sleeve slid down, her forearm bare. The Master couldn’t help but look at what was painfully inked on her skin.

3094120

It was inked on decades ago but she still…she still couldn’t get over it. She was meant to be strong and powerful and ruthless yet, seven numbers carried painful memories that reduced her to nothing. Reduced her back to the dirt she was in the camp. She should’ve been used to seeing them, having them, but even after all this time, she’d still be sent into a whirlpool of memories and echoes whenever she saw them.

She was drag by hair, gnarled hands gripped her head. She’d screamed and bit and tried to overpower the men, human men.

Her hair was shaved, clothes replaced with stripes, a number inked onto her arm. She was no longer the Master, bane of the Doctor’s existence. She was 3094120.

_3094120 would wait in line to be hung._

_3094120 would wait in line to be gassed when she didn’t die the first time round._

_3094120 would cry before going to sleep._

_3094120 would silently say a prayer for a child as she burned his body._

_3094120 wondered why the Master decided to commit planet wide genocide. Why? Why create all this horror and destruction? Did she do it just because of one lie._

_In 3094120 eyes, the Master was no better than the Nazi’s and that this hellish nightmare was penance for the crimes she had committed._  
  
It was half way through breakfast by the time the Master had calmed down, had exited the horrors of her past.  
Maybe it was guilt that drove the Master to want to help Mickey. Guilt that she couldn’t help her fellow prisoners and experiments.

The Master looked at her reflection and reached for a tissue to dab away the messed up mascara and tear streaks.

-/-/-/-/-

Mickey hoped to see Harry at breakfast.

She’d slipped out of bed, showered as quietly as possible and pulled on a white blouse and a dark blue skirt that reached just below her knees. Her husband was still fast asleep, his sleeping pills knocked him right out. A quick flick of eyeliner, a bit of powder on her nose she was nearly ready to go. She gathered her hair at the nape of her neck and shaped it into a bun, a few strands of hair escaping to frame her face. She slipped on some low black heels, pulled on a cardigan and grabbed her handbag before looking at the mirror.

She hated how she looked.

Women her age wore short skirts and had their hair down. Jeans and jackets were their thing but her husband didn’t like that. He was still stuck in the 40s He modelled her after his previous wife who died during childbirth, right after his newly born son. She remembers the first time she wore higher than usual heels and a short skirt around him. That night he was really, really bad. He’d threw her into the floor and pressed himself onto her, calling her a whore. 

_“If you dress up like a whore, then I might as well treat you like one.”_

Funny enough, that was when she conceived but after that she learnt her place. Accepted that she wasn’t Mickey Owens, the aspiring archeologists anymore. She was just a replacement and any children (accidents do happen) wouldn’t fill the hole that the first child’s death had created.

She couldn’t wait for him to be out of her life.

The breakfast room was large, with several white circular tables, some filled up already. Breakfast was served buffet style offering a mixture of cereals, continental and French pastries. There was the option to have something cooked straight from the kitchen too. Mickey got herself a cup of tea or what the Americans pass for tea anyway and searched for a place to sit. She didn’t want to sit alone. For the first time in a long time, she’d be allowed to interact with others with limited supervision from husband dearest. There was a table in the corner, three men and two women already occupying. There were three chairs empty.

“Excuse me,” she interrupted their conversation politely. They all turned their heads, a few smiling kindly and others interested. “are any of these seats taken?”

“Not at all, sweets!” Answered one woman. Her skin was a lovely warm shade of coffee, curly hair held back by a scarf. She sounded like she was from New Orleans if Mickey had to guess. The woman smiled as Mickey sat down next to her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m Jean! This is Samantha,” she motioned towards a stern, angular woman who was covered head to toe in black next to her. “Jimmy,” a red headed, bearded man in flannel, “Edgar,” brunette with a moustache, dressed in an excellent green tweed suit, “and that’s Andrew,” an olive skinned man with gently curling hair and big glasses.

“I’m Mickey,” she shook hands with Andrew and stood up to reach across the table to Jimmy and Edgar. They all sat down and conversation resumed while Mickey sat there gently sipping on her tea. It was bland. She reached for the sugar pot and her gaze landed on a book in front of Samantha; it read Spring Fire with two women dressed only in nightdresses

“Are we gonna have a problem here?” The voice was slightly more masculine that Mickey had imagined to come from Samantha. It was only then that Mickey realised she was staring. She knew what the book was about, she’d bought it when she was younger (it had been subsequently burned by her mother when she found it). Mickey looked around the table and suddenly, everything became obvious. Edgar and Andrew sat close, closer than Jimmy sat to Edgar, Samantha had a relatively flat chest and was discreetly holding hands with Jean.

“Oh no no no. No problem at all…I just remembered reading that book…” she trailed off, a slight blush dusting her cheeks. There was a collective “ahh”.

“Well, just to let you know, if you haven’t gathered already, hunny, is that you’re welcome here. Not just with us but with the hotel. They’re rather radical here in all honesty. Must be because the hotel is in the middle of nowhere,” spoke Jean. She was a rather cheerful woman and Mickey knew she’d get along great with the group. Shame her husband was here.

The group got to know each other as they ate. Questions ranging from loud, jovial fights about breakfast drinks to quiet queries (mainly from Mickey) about sexual identity. Jean and Samantha were all to happy to explain whilst Jimmy encouraged from the sidelines. He didn’t know much about sex, he explained, said he didn’t have many sexual desires. Mickey could understand that. Though Harry…Harry was something else.

“Can I join you lot?” speak of the devil and he (in this case she) shall cometh. Mickey turned to look at Harry, a smile on her face. They may have interacted for less that five minutes (of which Mickey said nothing to her and Harry being somewhat of a dick) but Mickey was, for a lack of a better word, infatuated. She wanted to get to know this woman more, experience things she’d never done.

Harry, whilst looking stunning in a black, long sleeve turtle-neck and loose fitting, purple trousers, seemed a little worse for wear. Her hair had that tell tale frizz of hands running through them, her makeup looked a little smudge and her eyes had that telltale puffiness of crying. Harry had obviously tried to hide her sadness through that sly grin of hers but Mickey knew true sadness. She’d seen her mother trying to hide her pain, seen her father trying to hide his PTSD.

“Of course,” answered Andrew and Harry sat down next to Mickey hand grasping for the water pitcher.

“Morning Harry,” Harry nodded her reply as she took a sip. “Fancy a cuppa? It’s a bit bland though,” asked Mickey. She was a little worried. The woman last night was strong and imposing whilst the woman sitting next to her seemed a shade a broken. Obviously, something must’ve perked up the woman. Her eyes taking a mischievous glint and her lips quirked.

“Well obviously, dear. Americans don’t know what a decent cup of tea is since all of the good shit is at the bottom of the Boston harbour,” she replied smoothly and Mickey was shocked and yet, very, very impressed. Andrew and Jimmy laughed whilst Samantha gave a light chuckle, the other two grinning madly.

“Damn right we don’t!” exclaimed Edgar and the Americans clinked their mugs of coffee together. Harry relaxed, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips and Mickey grinned at her. She felt alive.

“So, you two seem close… you two ‘companions’?”Jean asked, air quoting companions. Mickey chocked on her tea and Harry stifled up a bit, looked around the table as if she was analysing the group before settling down. Mickey was the first to respond.

“Oh no, we only met last night,” she replied rather hastily and she thought she had seen Harry’s shoulder slump just slightly in the corner of her eye.

“Ahhh, right then,” smirked Samantha as she sipped her coffee and shared a conspiratorial glance with the men.

“Just friends then?”  
“Yes just…”a hand clamped her shoulder suddenly and harshly. It was large. It was a man’s hand.  
Mickey froze, her body tensing up and her knuckles turning white as she gripped her cup.

“Michaela, why didn’t you wake me up sooner?” The group collectively looked up at him.

“Eveybody,” they looked at her, bodies also tense like hers. “This is my husband, Ralph Richards.”

Jean looked at her, dead in the eye, terror hidden. Samantha was ready to run, subtly hiding the lesbian novel. Edgar and Andrew leaned away from each other. Jimmy puffed out his chest, arms crossing and Harry…Harry gently entwined her ankle around Mickey’s, trying to comfort her.

Oh fuck.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheers to Aussie, she’s a great friend, fan and beta reader!
> 
> In this chapter, there isn’t too much triggering information. A character is an asshole, control freak and general sleaze who degrades. There is also mentions of a miscarriage, just letting you know.

Breakfast had gotten very awkward, very quickly. You could say it started the moment Ralph had announced himself but it truly escalated when the Master refused to move seats. The only empty seat was between Samantha and Jimmy. Mickey wouldn’t be in his direct line of sight. It was a silent staring contest, a battle of who’s the top alpha, who’d get to sit next to Mickey. Typical attempt at asserting dominance. The pathetic man was shocked that a woman, a weak, feeble woman (the Master was most certainly not weak thank you very much) wasn’t submitting to him. She stood her ground, back straight, no emotion on her face. Ralph conceded by looking away. The Master won and he moved to sit down between two of the most hardy members of the group. Ralph was given the cold shoulder, Jimmy being too invested in mixing up his coffee to bother striking up a conversation.

“So Michaela, why didn’t you wake me up?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you. I know the flights to America can be quite tiresome and with your weak heart…” Mickey feigned the concerned wife so well. Too well almost but nonetheless, the Master was truly impressed. Homicidal, a quick thinker and a good actress…she was everything the Timelord wanted.

 _No! Do not think like that. She’s human, you’re an eternal Timelord. It wouldn’t work._ Gods, when did her voice of ‘reason’ start to sound like the Doctor? The Master had to repress a snarl. So since she never listens to the Doctor, the Master fully opened up to the slight possibility that something could happen between them. Maybe it will just be a quick fling or maybe …maybe it could be something more.

Now that she thought about it, the Master felt lonely, truly lonely. She’d been isolated since her earliest memories, abandoned repeatedly by who she thought were her friends. Then the Nazi ordeal happened and she was just so over it all. All the plots and evil schemes. All this time, she just wanted somebody to notice her and right here, right now, there was a beautiful woman sitting next to her who the Master wanted to get to know and, based on her body language, the woman reciprocated.

She nudged Mickey’s knee, ankles still entwined and Mickey nudged back before disentangling their legs. The Master suddenly felt lost at the lack of contact.

“Right then,” the Master stood up, her loud, chirpy voice startled everybody at the table, “I’m gonna get some breakfast.”

“Oh, could get you get me one of those French pastries? I’ve never had them so readily available,” spoke Mickey with a child like grin. The Master rolled her eyes at her enthusiasm before sharing her grin. America was pretty good for food compared to the UK as it was only a few years back that rationing had ended. America never really had that problem.

“Aren’t they quite heavy in butter though, Michaela.” It wasn’t posed as a question, more of a command. Ralph was an asshole through and through. “If we are to have a baby then you need to watch your weight. I read an article the other day, that fat women can’t conceive properly.” He tried to pose it as a conversation starter but the other men at the table were not interested at all. “And well, dear, we’ve been trying for a while now and no baby in sight. You do seem to be chubby round the cheeks,” and he laughed. He bloody laughed. Jean, surprisingly, had to be held back by Samantha. The Master looked down at Mickey and her hearts broke.

Mickey’s head hung low, dirty blond hair coming loose from her bun and strands hiding her face. The deep red blush of embarrassment crept up her neck and her shoulders were slumped. The Master couldn’t decided if she wanted to kill this man, right here, right now or cradle the poor woman, whisper words of encouragement and beauty into her ear. Mickey was stunning the way she was, with an hourglass figure and gentle cheekbones. There was nothing pudgy about her, she was all lithe and curves.

Edgar moved and the Masters eye locked onto him. With a subtle jerk of his head, the man motioned towards the breakfast buffet. The Master had to force herself to move away from Mickey’s side and walked with with Edgar.

“If you’re not careful, he’ll notice and she’ll be in deeper shit.” He muttered as he poured out some juice into a glass.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Liar.

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” he hissed out, picking out an apple as the Master grabbed a plate. “You’re more obvious than Andrew and I!”

“Keep your voice down.” She snarled back and placed a pain au chocolat on her plate, pretending to be a very content holiday maker to the other guests.

“Just be glad that he’s obnoxiously straight and too fucking self centred to notice you and her,” he sighed. “God, I wanna kill him.”

“Join the club, mate.”

“Fucking degrading her is bad enough but in a public place, oh boy, that’s a whole new level of asshole.” The Master nodded along, enjoying the rant. A good old fight brightened her day anyway time of the week but this felt bittersweet. This involved something the Master wanted to protect (this hadn’t occurred since she first looked at her daughter) and her anger was reaching dangerous levels.

“We’ve gotta keep her safe. I’ve gotta keep her safe,” she found herself muttering.

“I know,” Edgar clapped a hand on her shoulder before cracking a smile. “Typical lesbians. You meet a fellow queer and in five minutes you’re already planning your wedding and how many cats to adopt,” he joked and the Master felt inclined to agree. As soon as Mickey had introduced herself, that lonely little soul named Koschei the Master had tried to bury deep resurfaced. Koschei wanted forever with this woman and for once, the Master wanted the same.

The pair strode back to the table and they shared a groan. Ralph was ordering his breakfast (he was supposedly too good to eat from the buffet like a normal person) and the waiter looked heavily uncomfortable. The man was probably ordering something not on the menu, flaunting his wealth. Mickey still looked sullen and was nervously picking at her nails. The Master slid into the seat next to her and smiled at the her.

-/-/-/-

Mickey felt hurt and ashamed. She had found a group and started to become friends with them all and then Ralph had to go and spoil it for her. He always did that. He goes and forces himself in, making himself the centre of attention, embarrassing her in the process. The men would usually laugh and the women would join in but for the first time, people wanted to defend her. Even with her stomach filled with dread, her chest constricted, she felt wanted, accepted.

Harry has come back and smiled at her. Mickey tucked some hair behind her ear and looked solemnly at her. Harry sighed before looking at Ralph, checking something before reaching for a paper napkin and discreetly wrapping up a pastry, one of the chocolate ones.

“Act like nothing’s happening,” she murmured and casually reached down to the handbag on the floor, slipping the wrapped up pastry into it. Mickey thought the blonde would move back into a seated position and she was straightening up but fingertips had brushed her ankle, glided up her calf and brushed up her skirt, a hand grazing her knee before pulling away. Mickey tried to control her blush, her heart racing. Holy fuck, that was…that was something else. A familiar heat she had experienced on a few occasions had started to pool in her stomach.

“I don’t even know you,” she murmured to Harry who merely smirked and bit into peach. She chewed and swallowed before slightly inclining her head.

“But you want to get to know me, love. Don’t worry…I want to get to know you too,” she gave a lazy smile before turning away. Edgar was giving Harry a pointed look. He must’ve been watching Mickey’s reaction and Harry only quirked an eyebrow in response. Mickey quickly looked at Ralph, he was still ordering breakfast. And he called her fat.

She crossed her legs, feeling a little unsure but thoroughly enjoying herself. Harry just looked smug.

“It’s going to be a nice day according to the weather report. I was thinking, maybe a nice stroll through the forest,” offered Jean once Ralph had finally finished ordering.

“That sounds lovely, Jean,” Mickey replies, her voice sounded small and uncharacteristically quiet. She looked at her husband who only huffed his consent. Oh how she hated having to ask for consent to go do something. “I’ll need to change though.”

“That’s all good, honey. Let’s say, meet up at ten in the lobby?” Everybody agreed, though Ralph only grumbled about waiting for his breakfast.

-/-/-/-

Getting changed had been stressful. Ralph would comment on whatever she chose. She quickly realised he wanted her in heels and a skirt. Very impractical for a walk.

“But I’ll end up spraining my ankle. If you want me to loose weight,” Jesus the words tasted sour in her mouth, “I’ll need to exercise and I can’t exercise in the bed.”

“Fine,” he spat out, adjusting his collar in the mirror before striding over to her. Mickey felt trapped between him and the wall. “You know the rules. I don’t want you embarrassing me further. You’ve done enough damage this morning.” He tilted her chin up and studied her. “You’re hair is a mess, clean it up.” He let go of her and made his way to the bathroom. Mickey breathed heavily. She fucking hated the rules in regards to clothing:

_Knees and shoulders covered._   
_Hair always tidy_   
_Minimal makeup_   
_No nail polish_   
_Low heels_   
_Ralph always has final say_

Sometimes the knee and shoulder rule could be disregarded if he picked the outfit. The pink dress she had arrived in was given to her by Ralph just so he could try and touch her during the flight.

This morning she had been lucky that he was asleep and had a semi decent reason for her outfit to go unchecked. Now, everything would go back to being scrutinised. Breakfast had been a breathe of fresh air and Mickey couldn’t wait for him to be gone. She could be with people like her. She could be with Harry.

Mickey quickly changed into loose denim jeans and white flannel shirt with a thermal vest underneath, tan walking boots replacing heels and she pulled her hair into a sleek ponytail. Thank fuck she had managed to convince him to allow her to pack some working clothes (she mainly wore this when gardening, the one thing she was allowed to do freely even if she hated it) claiming it’d help her relax if she could go hiking in the mountains. Ralph walked out of the bathroom, looked her over and grunted, motioning for them to leave the room.

The group was already there when they reached the lobby, dressed in a mixture of fleece and denim. Jean, the utter sweetheart, linked her arm with Mickey, steering them away from her husband and outside into the crisp air. There was a chilling breeze but the warmth of the sun made up for that.

“Off we go then!” she cheered and the group strode onwards into the forest. There was a map showing different routes, all colour coded from violet to red, violet being the easiest and shortest and red being the opposite. The group collectively chose the green route, a nice medium route. The men marched on whilst the women chattered behind them.

“Just saying, Samantha and I are just here to supervise you two. Give you some time to get to know each other,” interrupted Jean. She shared a conspiratorial look with with Samantha. Mickey and Harry shared a shocked look.

“I don’t understand. I’m married, shouldn’t you be discouraging…this?” Mickey mentioned between her and Harry. Samantha let a laugh.

“Ooooh that is priceless,” she wiped away a tear. “Edgar and Andrew…they’re both married but they’ve told their wives they’re on a business trip,” she whispered. “We don’t care if you’re married or not, as long as you’re not caught.”

“Welcome to the queer club, honey. We’re all liars here,” muttered Jean. Jean walked ahead whilst Samantha took up the rear.

“So…”

“So…” repeated Harry.

“What was earlier about?”

“What do you mean?” Mickey sharply turned her head towards Harry, who just looked around the forest.

“You…touching my leg like that…”she muttered quietly, moving closer to Harry so they could talk a little more privately.

“You needed to relax, put his words out of your mind,” Harry mumbled, “its how people like your husband get off. They enjoy making others uncomfortable.” She glanced at Mickey, “you’ve got to be strong. If you look and act strong then they’ll get bored, he’ll get bored.”

“…but when he’s bored…he’s worse,” Mickey whispered. “I was strong once. Tried to take back my body but he…he just…”

“You don’t have to say it, love,” Harry slipped her pinky finger around Mickey’s. “I know. You didn’t really have a choice in what happened. Getting married, I mean,” Harry stared ahead, looking at the men. Ralph was occupied in chit chat so they were safe to have this discussion. Jean was also on lookout.

“No. My father served with him,” Mickey jerked her head towards Ralph. “He lost his wife a few years back and he’s quite wealthy. Things had gotten quite tight back home. With money I mean…my elder sister had already married so I was the last resort. Got to keep the great Owens Family rich,” she gave a sardonic chuckle, “so I got guilt tripped into leaving university and marry this man I never knew before the wedding.”

-/-/-/-

The Master could truly sympathise with her. Mickey’s wedding sounded very much like a Gallifreyan one; loveless, political, with a guaranteed heir. Her (then his) marriage was just like Mickey’s. The only good thing that came out that marriage was her daughter.

“I was in a similar situation to you,” she mentioned and Mickey looked confused. “The only good thing that came out of it was my child.”

“Where are they now?”

“Gone. Lost.” Her wife had been one of the first killed in the Time War, stationed on a lab in the colony worlds and her daughter…destroyed by the Moment. Slaughtered alongside millions of others by the Doctor. Her one true star of hope, gone.

Mickey entwined all of their finger and squeezed her hand.

“I was going to have a baby. But I miscarried. In a way I’m glad that I did. I did not want to be with him for eternity,” the master solemnly nodded her head. One final squeeze of their hands and they pulled apart as the men stopped to appreciate the view.

“I’m here for you, Mickey, whatever you need.”

“And I for you, Harry.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a big thank you to you, my readers, for your kudos, bookmarks and comments. It makes me so happy to know that people love this and are generally intrigued with how this story will go.
> 
> Aussie is my pedantic beta reader so kudos to her! 
> 
> It’s fluffy, it’s short, might have smut next chapter.

It was a brisk walk back to the hotel as it was getting close to lunch. Nobody talked or payed attention to the scenery as they trotted along the path. The path had changed from gravel to mere tracks in dirt, roots sticking out and rocks littering the forest floor. Clearly, nobody had maintained this particular route in a while. They focused on not tripping but sometimes somebody had to grab an arm to stabilise.

Mickey was keeping up with everybody else but her feet were dragging. She enjoyed being close to Harry and the secret touches. For once, Mickey wanted to be closer to the woman, physically and emotionally. What would life be like with her? Endless nights of touching? Mornings filled with soft kisses and coffee? Once Ralph was out of the way Mickey could love with her whole heart and not be afraid of life. She could…

Mickey didn’t see the tree root. 

She tripped and grabbed onto the nearest person. They tried to steady her by grabbing her arm but all it did was was drag them both down onto the ground. Mickey fell down first the other person landing on top of her. It was Harry. She had some how managed to fall directly onto Mickey, arms on either side of her head and straddling Mickey’s waist, her hair creating a small curtain. Their faces were so close that if either of them moved their lips would would brush. 

“Hey there,” Harry breathed out and Mickey blushed. Their eyes locked and Mickey felt that her heart would beat out of her chest. 

“Hi,” she mumbled. She licked her lips and took a sharp breath as Harry moved her head lower, gently touching Mickey’s lips with her own. It was a chaste kiss, nothing more. It was over as soon as it started and Mickey immediately missed the sensation. Of course, she had kissed her husband but this felt different, she felt more. There was no disgust or shame but instead, desire and passive filled her chest. The kiss had lit a fire of lust and need in Mickey’s belly and she wanted to know more, know what Harry tasted like, felt like. She needed more and judging by the hungry look in Harry’s eye, she needed more too. “Harry…I,” she didn’t know what to say. What could you say when you’d just been kissed by a stunning woman?

“Don’t. Please, don’t say anything,” Harry pushed herself up and moved into a kneeling position. “I know you’re forbidden. You’re bloody married for fucks sake and you’re…” She stoped herself, eyes widening slightly at what she was about to say. She nervously run a hand through her hair. Was Mickey being rejected? She felt anger curling around her lust, a dangerous combination. This woman goes and flirts with her, making sure she’s ok and offering to be a helping hand then as soon as they kiss, Mickey is being pushed away. The constant shift in feelings and actions concerning her confuses and actually hurts Mickey. 

“Stop playing with my emotions, Harriet,” Mickey snarled and Harry looked shocked. She winced as she stood up and brushed down her jeans and shirt. Oh yeah, there was definitely going to be a bruise in the morning. She started to walk away. Shit, the others were so far ahead. Ralph was going to be angry. She’d only walked about a metre or two before she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. 

“You’ve misunderstood, Mickey,” Harry quickly spoke. The blonde twisted Mickey around so that they were face to face. Harry looked sullen and apologetic, “I wasn’t rejecting you.” A hand gently brushed Mickey’s jaw, “I just…don’t know what to do. I haven’t had many positive feelings for anybody since I lost my family and yet here you are, breaking down my walls and flooding me with emotions.” She smiled gently and Mickey forgave her immediately. This woman was a little broken and in need of somebody just like herself.

“I want to take this slow, whatever this is,” Mickey replied. “And we’ve got to be discrete. Can’t really do anything with him around…need to fix that,” she muttered the last bit to herself. A dark expression crossed her face and when she looked up, Harry was mirroring her. She had a wicked glint and a dark smirk that spoke to that wicked little voice in Mickey’s soul. That little voice that whispered to her, do it, cut open his throat, stuff him full with sleeping pills. Harry leaned forward, her lips brushing the shell of Mickey’s ear. She shivered and her eyes closed. Harry was so deliciously close. 

-/-/-/-

Gods, she was so close to her. Mickey’s mind had been practically screaming murderous thoughts and the Master couldn’t resist. The earlier kiss was chaste and clearly wasn’t enough for her. She needed Mickey. Everybody has had walked off, not realising that they had a drop in numbers. The setting was perfect. 

“Tell me, little dove, how will you rectify your problem,” she murmured in Mickey’s ear and promptly moved her mouth to the human’s jaw line, placing soft kisses. The Master smiled as Mickey moaned and she pulled their bodies closer together by wrapping an arm around the others waist. Her little dove was innocent but murderous and it enticed the Master to no end. She wanted to see what’d happen if she pressed the right buttons. The Master moved her lips down Mickey’s neck and they both moaned as Mickey threaded her fingers through the Master’s hair before gripping tight. Fuck, how would Mickey react when they finally sleep together? 

“Harry,” Mickey said and the Master detached herself from that wonderful neck. She only quirked an eyebrow in response and moved her hand lower and settled at small of the human’s back. Mickey took a sharp breath. “We should be going,” Mickey didn’t sound so sure, almost as if she just wanted to spend the entire day in the forest with the Master. All the things the Timelord could do to her sweet little body. She’d be begging for release in seconds. 

The Master moved her hands up to cup Mickey’s face and they both stared at each other, waiting for the other to make the next move. 

“We can stay for a while longer,” she replied before pressing her lips against Mickey’s. They were soft and full and the Master knew she could spend hours kissing her. It wasn’t chaste and brief like the last one. More urgent. The woman felt tense against her body and the Master felt slightly concerned that she had pushed a boundary. Luckily, it was mere surprise that Mickey felt and after a moment she returned the kiss, pushing back and wrapping her arms around the Masters neck. It felt good to be wanted, even if Mickey just wanted Harriet Saxon. It’d feel better to be wanted as the Master. She pulled away and pressed their foreheads together. She closed her eyes and smiled. Affection was what the Master had been missing for a long time. As a young boy, he was never shown it and as a Timelord everybody had feared him. What about all the forgotten lives? Did the Timeless Child ever find somebody to hold them after all those experiments or were they forever isolated. The Master didn’t want any of that. She wanted love and affection and she’s get it through any means possible. “Mickey, I don’t want to be alone anymore,” she hated how desperate she sounded. 

“Me neither.” 

“He needs to go.”

“I know, I know.”

“Let me help you. I told you I’d be there for you. I have experience.”

Mickey altered her grip on the Master, wrapping her arms around her waist and snuggled her head into the junction of the Masters neck. The Master sucked in a breath and she felt Mickey’s hot breathe on her neck. That was a really sensitive area. 

“What kind of experience?” Mickey queried and the Master had to think for a second to work out what to say. She couldn’t exactly explain that she had wiped out entire civilisations (including her own), assassinated the head of MI6 and was, in essence, a genocidal maniac. That’d obviously blow her cover but if she made up a completely false identity, the fallout would be catastrophic if Mickey found out. Stick close to the truth and when the inevitable identity reveal happens, she’d hopefully, be able to repair their relationship with ease . Also, explaining that she’s an eternal alien that had tried to take over the planet multiple times would scare Mickey off. The Master really didn’t want to lose her now. 

“The kind of experience you’d get from being in service.” Not exactly a lie. She was involved in the Time War as a soldier, a savage one too. 

“Shit, you’re a spy?” Mickey pushed herself away and looked startled, scared even. It was an intoxicating look that the Master wanted more of. 

“Was. Retired now.”

“Fuck me,” she breathed out. The woman looked deep in thought and worriedly bit at her lip. The Master brought a hand up to brush her cheek and couldn’t help but grin. 

“Maybe later, love. Don’t want our first time to be out in the woods.” She purred and gave a wink. A blush crept across Mickey’s face and she rolled her eyes before giving the master a playful slap on the arm. 

“We really need to go now.”

“Fine.” It was the Masters turn to roll her eyes. “How good’s your running?”

“Mmm, its alright I guess but why?” The Master chuckled and knew she had that feral look on her face. They released each other and the Master grabbed Mickey’s smaller hand. 

“Well, we’ve gotta run now because you decided to spend time kissing me.” Another wink before taking off, Mickey in tow. 

“Excuse me, that was all you.” 

Oh yes, the Master could definitely spend eternity with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say a big thank you to you, my readers, for your kudos, bookmarks and comments. It makes me so happy to know that people love this and are generally intrigued with how this story will go.
> 
> Tumblr: Gremlin-of-Space


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this seems a little late.
> 
> Warnings: Ralph being the usual asshole  
> There’s a slight…smut I guess? 
> 
> If you need me to add any tags because something might be triggering or makes you uncomfortable, please let me know. I want you, the readers, to feel comfortable and safe.

The pair had eventually caught up to everybody else. Harry had artfully fabricated a lie (something to do tripping over and a feral raccoon) but Mickey wasn’t paying attention. Ralph was glaring at her, his eyes roving all over her, searching for anything that proved that the pair were lying. Mickey stared back, her heart was pounding and she felt like she would combust. If you look and act strong, they’ll get bored quicker, Harry’s words echoed in her mind. Back straight, chin up, look innocent. You have nothing to be guilty about, Mickey thought to herself. Ralph seemed satisfied and nodded his head before motioning the group to continue. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t explode at how intensely he was looking at you,” Harry murmured. They were walking again, with Ralph, as always, in the lead and the others trudging behind. 

“Worried about my acting skills are you?” Mickey quipped with a teasing smile.

“No, no. I was rather impressed actually.”

“So could I make it in the private sector?” It was an innocent question that was supposed to sound teasing but it actually came out as serious. There was a Cold War happening, sleeper agents were everywhere. Once Ralph was out of the picture, maybe she could do it, go around and collect secrets. Who was she kidding? She had no tertiary education and she had spent the last few years as a bed warmer. 

Harry quirked an eyebrow and gave her a sly smile. 

“You seeking danger?” Harry asked. She gave Mickey an appreciative glance. 

“Maybe,” she admitted. “Maybe I want to live a little,” Mickey moved a little closer so that their arms brushed as they walked. Mickey smiled whenever their hands touched and Harry would glance at her in acknowledgment. Their touches as they walked were innocent and sweet, a stark contrast to the kiss earlier. 

They had managed to make it back to the hotel just before lunch was being served. Nobody bothered getting changed or showered and instead heartily dug into their meals, idle conversation filling the air. It was pleasant for a while until Ralph put a hand on Mickey’s knee. It was hard and gripping and Mickey could swear he was about to break her kneecap with how hard he was squeezing. His bruising hand moved up to her thigh. Mickey thanked whoever was listening that she had put on jeans; his hands couldn’t touch her skin.  
That didn’t stop him when they all retired to their rooms for the night.

-/-/-/-

For once in a long time, the Master had a pleasant dream. There was no gas or death or pain, just sweet touches and murmured promises. It was red lights and touches under sheets. It was hot and cold all at once, an intoxicating mixture that the Master knew only Mickey could create. The human woman was the only one who get the Master into such a state of confusion and frenzy. 

She could remember being under her little dove, her innocent Mickey trailing lips all over her neck. Her red lipstick leaving kiss marks over her throat and collarbone. A few love bites were being nipped at across her neck and the Master had gasped at the pleasurable pain. Fingers travelled over her bare skin, making the Master shiver. Mickey traced the curves of the Masters breast and the Master keened into her touch. She had to bite her lip to stop a moan from escaping her throat as Mickey bit her neck and pinched a nipple. It was too much but at the same time it wasn’t enough.

The Master had found herself begging. She wasn’t used to begging but with Mickey it was different. Usually, she’d be the one teasing her sexual partner, making sure that they actively sought out her touch but being with Mickey she craved her fingers, her lips, anything and everything that was Michaela. The Master couldn’t help the whimper that escaped when Mickey finally, fucking finally, slipped a finger into her wet heat. 

Then she woke up. 

Typical wasn’t it? To wake up right before it got to the good part. That was why the Master had found herself all too hot and too achey at five a.m. She kicked off the sheets and stared at the ceiling. She worried her lip, pondering at the sudden shift in her dynamic. She’d always, always been the dominant one and yet, she’d gladly (in her subconscious at least) have Mickey pin her against the bed. Would Mickey actually do it? 

Right now, the Master didn’t give a fuck to the answer. The dream played on repeat in her mind as she slipped a hand under her pyjama bottoms. She groaned at the relief her fingers brought but they weren’t Mickey’s. Gods, she needed to be alone with that woman soon. 

She chased her release, her spare hand grasping at her hair. The pleasure licking at her nerves as she thought of a certain small blonde. She didn’t feel any shame at thinking about a human in such a lustful, sinful way. Shit shit shit shit, she thought, her back arching at she crested, Mickey’s name moaned into the quiet dark. The Master gently rubbed herself through the orgasm, her body shivering. She pulled her hand away when she became too sensitive and licked her fingers clean. What would Mickey taste like? Probably the sweetest of honeys. The human was sweetness bottled up (with a side order of murderous intent). 

The Master looked over at the clock. It read ten past five and she grinned. She had plenty of time for a few more. The Master quickly did herself of her pyjamas and gleefully got back to her fantasies. 

-/-/-/-/-

The Master felt good. She was still riding her oxytocin and dopamine high when she entered the dining room for breakfast. She was at ease as she collected a mug for her coffee and a small plate. Her breakfast was light, mainly consisting of tea and coffee as usual. She walked to the table that the group had occupied the day before and was disheartened to see that Mickey wasn’t there already. She didn’t mind the others. In fact, she quite enjoyed being around Edgar even if he was warning her constantly. She didn’t need warnings about how to act. She had managed to fool the Doctor into believing she was human so concealing a relationship from people was going to be easy. 

She sat down between Andrew and Jimmy. The two men were not the chatty type and the Master thanked the Gods. Yes, she didn’t mind them but right now, she want to enjoy her coffee and plan out what she had to do now. Somehow, she needed to worm her way into Ralph’s trust zone but judging by the way he treated Mickey, there was no way she could wedge herself into his bubble, being a woman and all that. Being a woman fucking sucked sometimes, especially in this century but hey, at least the sex was great. 

It had been about half an hour since the the Master sat down when Mickey finally arrived, Ralph ‘guiding’ her. At first, the group thought that the couple would be joining them however, Ralph practically dragged Mickey to another table nearly filled with other old white men and their wives. The Master scoffed at Ralph. A conservative. Asshole. 

Mickey looked uncomfortable. She was clearly the youngest at the table and she didn’t engaged in any of the conversations, merely sitting still and looking pretty by Ralph’s side. The Master subtly kept and eye on her, drinking from her mug and pretended to be talking to Jimmy. The group were also watching the other table and the Master could hear Jean grumbling about something. Mickey was nervous but she did an excellent job at hiding it. The fact that she was so good at it made the Master worry. Why would her strong dove need to lie and hide so expertly? 

Ralph was standing up and moving away from the table whilst the other couples continued to talk. Mickey just sat there in a chilling doll-like fashion, perfectly posed and still. It made the Masters heats twinge in concern. It was a few heartsbeats before Mickey started to look around the room and then focusing on the Master. Their eyes connected and the Master raised a questioning eyebrow. Are you ok? Mickey didn’t show any response before she stood up and excused herself. To human, she looked like she was walking perfectly normal but the Master knew she was hiding a limp. Her hips seemed tense and one leg was more stiff than the other. Mickey had walked over to the restroom corridor and subtly motioned for the Master to join her before walking out of the Master’s sight. She waited for a few seconds before excusing herself from the table and casually stride over to the restrooms. It was quite and perfect for a conversation. The Master pushed open the door to the ladies and quickly shut it behind her. 

Mickey looked broken. 

“What’s wrong, my dove?” The Master stepped tentatively towards the woman, a hard coming up to the gently brush her cheek. Mickey flinched and back away, settling in the corner where the sink met the wall. She wasn’t looking at the Master. 

“He was really bad last night.” Mickey whispered and she rubbed her arms. She looked as if she was trying to make herself smaller, trying to become one with the wall. The Master felt anger rising up and it took a lot of strength not to go back into the dining room and have her sweet revenge. No, it shouldn’t be her revenge. Mickey should be the one to finish him. 

The Master slowly walked over to Mickey and leaned against the wall, giving the woman plenty of room to run if she felt the need to. The Master brushed her hand against Mickey’s asking for permission to hold her. The Timelord expected the woman to shun away, to cower in shame not launch herself into the Master, head burrowed into the Masters blouse. Mickey smelt of jasmine and vanilla. The Master wrapped her arms around the woman, resting her head against Mickey’s. 

“How bad does it hurt?” she murmured against blonde hair. 

“A lot, Harry. It hurts really badly.” Mickey whispered against fabric. She wasn’t crying yet but she was close judging by the shakes and how she clenched and unclenches her fists. The pair stayed in that position, Mickey clinging onto the Master as if she was a lifeline and the Master wrapping herself around the human. 

The Master had to make sure that her little dove wasn’t alone with Ralph too often. 

-/-/-/-/-

Mickey felt slightly happier after the hug with Harry. Being in her arms felt safe and secure. She could have easily spent the entire day like that. However, her improved mood suddenly came crashing down when Ralph whisked her away from Harry, Jean and the others to go on a trip with other ‘old’ couples. She hated being with them. 

The wives were carbon copies of each other, all with the same high pitched voice and irritating hobbies. It was all sewing and celebrity and gossip. God, Mickey hated gossip. The men were even worse. They were all like Ralph, sleazy and rich. Being the youngest of the women, the men were always eyeing her up an she could have sworn that Ralph was was conspiring with them to do something with her (they’d always glance over at her when they talked together). This continued for a week and Mickey felt like a piece of meat. 

She hadn’t seen Harry since the bathroom hug. She missed her cinnamon perfume and her masculine fashion. Harry was intense and Mickey craved her attention like a drug.

Mickey was sitting in the Library, the carbon wives chatting idly as they embroidered. Mickey had managed to find and borrow a book on ancient Egyptian burial techniques. Whilst she had briefly studied the mummification techniques at University, she was still intrigued. She was thoroughly engrossed in the process of brain removal when she heard Ralph shouting. Mickey searched the room before she found her husband yelling into a phone. The entire library had turned deadly silent, no pages being flicked, no whispered conversations. Just awkward silence

“I DON’T CARE. I AM ON HOLIDAY,” there was a pause and Ralph winced. He sighed. “Yes sir…I understand, forgive me,” he grumbled through gritted teeth and Mickey had to conceal her grin behind her book. It was satisfying to see him have to apologise to feel what she felt whenever he berated her. Ralph slammed the phone down and sharply turned around. “What are you all looking at?” Everybody had stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Ralph. It was very awkward indeed. Ralph looked at Mickey and she swallowed. He looked pissed. A jerk of his head and Mickey was being summoned to his side. She placed her book next to her handbag and tentatively made her way to him. 

“What happened?” Said Mickey. She tried to sound and act concerned, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“I’m heading to Italy. Business is going bad over there.” 

“Italy?” Oh no. That was so far away. They could be gone for weeks and she might never be able to see Harry again. Think, think, think. Oh…what was the one thing that Ralph worried about beside himself? Money. “But you’ve already paid our room for three months…” she trailed off, spoon feeding her idea, “it’d be such a waste of money to leave now,” she paused. Her husband mulled over her words and he looked concerned. “I could always stay here,” Mickey offered but Ralph didn’t look convinced. Mickey quickly added on, “you wouldn’t have to worry about me then. You could focus on your work.” The man in front of her, pondered for a moment before grunting. 

Bingo. 

“Alright but you better behave yourself. Don’t want to come back here and hear you’ve been running around like a whore,” he pointed a finger in her face and Mickey quickly nodded. 

“Of course, dear,” she breathed out in relief when he vacated her personal space, “when do you leave?” 

“In an hour,” he grumbled our and stalked off towards the lobby for the elevator. Mickey had to bite her lip to stop herself from squealing in joy. Nearly three months without Ralph. In a hotel. With a very beautiful woman. She had to tell Harry. 

Mickey collected her handbag and the book, murmuring an excuse and an apology to the wives before practically skipping out of the library. She started to search around the ground floor of the hotel. Perhaps she wasn’t inside the hotel. 

The day was surprisingly warm and sunny. A gentle breeze caught Mickey’s skirts as she stepped outside onto the patio area. Damnit, she’s not there either. Mickey was starting to get annoyed when she caught a glimpse of short, blonde hair. Harry the enigma was hiding just in the tree line, sitting on a bench. Mickey couldn’t help the grin that seeing her brought to her face. She walked over to the woman, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Harry put down what appeared to be a sketchbook and gave Mickey a smirk, learning into the bench. 

“So my little dove finally managed to escape her captor then?” She purred and Mickey blushed. Harry patted the space next her and Mickey sat down. 

“I’ve managed to escape for a long time. Probably a few months,” Mickey opened up her handbag and rummaged for her cigarette case. She grabbed a one and tried to light it. Why did she feel nervous? Or maybe she felt excited? So much could happen in a few months.

“Here, let me.” Harry took the lighter off Mickey and expertly flicked the lighter, covering the flame as she lit Mickey’s cigarette. “So tell me how you managed to achieve that.”

“He’s going off to Italy for business,” Mickey took a drag and held the smoke in her lungs for a count before breathing out, “I told him leaving the hotel would be a waste of money, so he oh so graciously allowed me to stay.” She sounded sarcastic and rolled her eyes before taking another drag. 

“Mmm, so you played him like a fiddle then? I’m impressed love.” Harry had gotten closer, her hand close to Mickey’s knee. Mickey wanted to get closer but damn Harry for sitting in a spot where anybody could see them. Harry looked pleased like a cat who just caught her mouse, that devilish smirk tugging at her lips and eyes taking a dark glint. This woman was intense and Mickey needed more. 

“He leaves in an hour,” stated Mickey as she looked up through her eyelashes, a gently blush gracing her cheeks. She shifted slightly and Harry’s hand went higher on her leg and Mickey fidgeted more. God, Harry was so close. If only they weren’t in the open, Mickey would have been pulling Harry on top of her then and there. It had been a long week and Mickey had missed the enigmatic and seductive blonde. 

“Well then,” Harry started to pack her sketchbook and pencils away into a bag, obviously trying to keep her hand busy.. Harry then returned to her previous position, close and leaning in towards Mickey but this time her hand was on Mickey’s knee. Mickey breathed in sharply and bit her lip. She shifted slightly and Harry’s hand went higher on her leg and Mickey fidgeted more. God, Harry was so close. If only they weren’t in the open, Mickey would have been pulling Harry on top of her then and there. It had been a long week and Mickey had missed the enigmatic and seductive blonde.  
“Meet me at my room in an hour,” she then stood up, her bag slung over her shoulder and Mickey tried not to groan at the loss of Harry’s burning touch. She failed at keeping quiet and Harry had heard her. Harry grinned like the Cheshire Cat before turning serious. “The number’s 306. Don’t be late,” she ordered and Mickey swallowed deeply. She nodded quickly and had to cross her legs as heat flooded her lower body. Jesus Christ on a bike, Mickey needed more of that voice, more of the commands from the woman. Harry smirked once again at Mickey before spinning on her heel and strutting off. 

Right then, she had an hour until she’d meet with Harry. In Harry’s room. Alone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, beta’d by Aussie 
> 
> Warnings:  
> Mentions of concentration camps

The hour was going to go by painfully.

Mickey decided that safer to stay out of the room she shared with Ralph. He was always a horrible person but when he was in a mood, it was ten times worse. What he could do done in an hour. She shivered in her seat.

Mickey had chosen to move back to the library, the air outside being too crisp to wear a dress and she only wore a light cardigan. She had found a secluded spot, a window bench that was in view of the clock. The book Mickey had borrowed was hard to read as her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Harry. Sinful thoughts too.

_Instead of running back to the group, Harry pushed her against a tree, pinning Mickey’s wrists above her head with one hand. They kissed passionately, Mickey moaning into Harry’s mouth._

_Harry’s spare hand rested on Mickey’s hip, underneath her shirt. Her thumb rubbed circles on her skin before moving her hand up slowly. Mickey arched into her touch as Harry’s hand finally reached her breast. She kneaded Mickey’s breast, a thumb flicking over her nipple through her bra. Harry smiled into their kiss as Mickey whimpered in need. The blonde released Mickey’s wrist so she could tilt Mickey’s head and attack her neck with kisses and bites._

_“Harry,” Mickey moaned her name as she delivered a rather sharp bite to her jugular then soothing it with a lick. She rubbed her thighs together as she felt herself getting slick, a hunger only Harry could create filling her stomach. A knee pushed its way between Mickey’s legs and she ground down onto Harry’s thigh, pleasure spiking._

The clock chimed and Mickey was startled out of her daydream. Seeing that only half an hour had passed, she groaned. Why must time go so slowly, she thought to herself as she pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. It was soothing to the hot flush of her body. She crossed her legs and tried not to think about her little fantasy but it was hard. Harry asking Mickey to come to her room could only mean one thing, right?

Mickey forced herself to think of something else. What was she going to do now? Without Ralph around she had freedom. Freedom to talk and dress however she wanted…It was an intoxicating thought.

Half an hour and he’d be gone. Perhaps for good if something were to happen to him while he was away. Despite wanting to kill him, it would be a massive relief if she did not have his blood on her hands. The police were getting smarter with each passing year and she had an obvious motive; money.

She was a little nervous now that she thought about it. With freedom came responsibility. She had to think out a plan to kill Ralph and form a watertight alibi. She needed help. She needed Harry and her unique skill set. She also needed a drink. Jesus, why were her nerves acting up?

The bar was relatively quiet and Mickey ordered herself a gin and tonic; it was too early in the day for anything stronger. A newspaper had been left on the counter and she pulled it towards her. The world was looking grimmer every day, mused Mickey as she sipped her drink and continued to read.

About twenty minutes later, Mickey heard a commotion in the lobby. So Ralph is ready to go then, she thought and grabbed a mint sweet from the bowl at the bar. She thanked the Bartender and made her way to the lobby, practising her goodbye. Oh, stay safe, dear. Be back soon! Etcetera, etcetera.

Ralph was being his usual self, yelling at a staff member (specifically the valet) as his luggage was loaded into the back of his car. So he was planning on completely isolating her here too then? Lovely.

“What’s wrong, dear?” Mickey asked, feigning interest as she looped an arm around his.

“There’s a bloody scratch on the car. Right there,” he pointed at the paint job and it took Mickey a while to spot it. It could hardly be called a scratch and in all honesty, it was probably made by Ralph, not that he would ever blame himself for it. No, he was far too perfect for that.

“Oh please, don’t kick up a fuss. Think about your heart,” she batted her eyelashes at him. He shrugged her off and went over to check that all of his suitcases were present and correct. “Besides, don’t you have a plane to catch?” she called after him, “It’ll take you a while to get to the airport, no?” Just fuck off already.

“Yes, it will.” He grumbled and opened the driver's door, stepping in and re-positioning mirrors. Mickey walked over to him, standing just far enough so that he couldn’t touch her. “Now, remember what I said,” his voice was low and dangerous, his eyes sharp and malicious. “Behave yourself or else.” He didn’t need to explain any further. Mickey knew it meant pain. She swallowed and nodded, stepping back as Ralph started the engine.

“Stay safe!” She called as her husband finally drove off, down the winding road and out of her life for quite a while. Without his presence, the air felt easier to breathe and Mickey visibly relaxed, her shoulders losing their constant tension.

She stared at the road for a bit, making sure he was definitely gone before heading back inside to the warmth of the hotel. She checked the clock and nearly swore aloud. Only a few minutes to get to Harry’s room. Mickey quickly walked over to the elevators, jamming the up bottom repeatedly. Come on, come on, come on. The elevator doors opened and Mickey flew in, hitting the level three button. She rocked on her heels as she waited. Was she ready for whatever Harry had in mind? Honestly, she had no idea. Her experiences with sex so far have never been pleasant so her ideas of pleasure stemmed from her uni days. Even if she had fantasies and Harry was gentle, it was still a massive venture to sleep with somebody you met on a holiday. But Harry was different.

The doors opened and Mickey took a second to read the signage before practically running to Harry’s room. When she found 306, she barely had to knock before the door was opened. Harry looked, as usual, stunning with her signature red lip and her white turtle neck jumper.

“You’re cutting it a bit close. Almost thought you were going to be late,” chirped Harry, leaning against the door frame.

“Not my fault he was taking forever to leave,” huffed out Mickey as she crosses her arms.

“So he’s gone then?”

“Yes. He’s gone.”

“Great! Now you won’t get in trouble if I do this.”

“Do wha-” Mickey didn’t finish her sentence as Harry pulled her into the room, closed the door and pinned Mickey to it with her body and lips. Harry kissed her the same way she did in the forest, all body contact and fire. Mickey kissed back, wrapping her arms around Harry, pulling her closer.

-/-/-/-/-

Having Mickey in her arms after a long week apart was definitely a highlight of the decade. The woman was so responsive, opening her mouth when the Master swiped her tongue against her lips, asking to deepen the kiss. It had been so long since the last time the Master kissed anybody (it was probably the Doctor and the whole 3W-Cyberman fiasco) and Mickey was so inexperienced, probably used to the harshness and greediness of Ralph. The Master easily dominated the kiss, being both gentle and forceful at the same time. The need to consume and be consumed was taking over, desire making its permanent home in the Masters's stomach. She broke away, catching her breath for a second before she trailed kisses against Mickey’s jaw and neck, getting dangerously close to Mickey’s cleavage. That pleasant ache had settled between her legs again.

“Mickey, I need you,” moaned the Master against Mickey’s neck, hands scrunching up the fabric around the human's hips before trailing her hands on Mickey’s thighs. She felt her dove freeze beneath her and the Master instantly knew she’d overstepped. _Gods, this was probably how Ralph takes her_ , cursed the Master in her head. She backed away from Mickey, giving the woman some space.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I just don’t think I’m ready,” the poor woman looked ashamed and she moved past the Master, finding a perch on the edge of the bed.

“Please, don’t be. I’m sorry for rushing,” replied the Master. She leaned against the wall and pondered for a second. She never apologised for anything but here she was, saying sorry to the human. It was like a whole new piece of her personality; like the O persona had become one with her.

Personas.

Mickey had one. Rasilon, looking at how Mickey acts in general, it’s like the woman shifted between several depending on the situation. The Master hadn’t met the real Mickey yet if her theory was correct, and she was curious to find out who Michaela Richards really was.

“When was the last time you were you? Not the little show you put on for Ralph or everyone else,” The Master asked.

“Not for a long time, I think. Sometimes, I just…I don’t know…push that side away,” Mickey was being honest and truthful but she still turned her head away. The Master’s hearts ached and she moved to sit next to Mickey on the bed, making sure not to invade the woman’s body space. “I try to stay true to myself. I read books on archeology when I can. I talk to you and the others but that’s been only a recent development. Most of the time it’s like…it’s like…” she couldn’t finish her sentence but the Master knew what she was trying to say.

“It’s like you disassociate…you go and create a new personality just for them.” The Master confided. It had happened to her in the camps…sometimes she could feel 3094120 coming forward in a tight situation. It hadn’t happened since coming to the hotel but in the past, cornered by men she would usually slaughter with ease, the Master felt herself freeze and 3094120 nearly take over.

“How do you know what it’s like, Harry?” Mickey looked at the Master with concern and the Master felt something tighten around her chest. Humans had so much compassion and the good ones, like Mickey, Jean, Andrew and the others, were starting to grow on the Master. Especially her dove. She took a shuddering breath, placing her hand on Mickey’s cheek. Where to begin? So many lies, so many experiments and torture. _Start with the most recent, I guess._

The Master took off her jumper, a little nervous in all honesty. Nobody had seen the tattoo since the Allies stormed the camp and a few people had helped her get back on her feet. Taking a deep, grounding breath, she rolled up her left sleeve and waited for Mickey’s reaction.

“Oh, Harry.” Murmured Mickey as she took the Masters forearms in her hands. Her fingers gently stroked the numbers. “You must have only been a kid…I’m so, so sorry.”

“I don’t want your pity.” The Master snapped back as she pulled away, standing up and tugging her sleeve back down. _Why was it always the same?_ _Oh, I’m so sorry you’ve been lied to. Oh, I’m so sorry we put those drums in your head for a sick experiment_. The Master felt anger starting to consume her. It wasn’t aimed at Mickey, Gods, no. No, it was aimed at them. The ones who saw her as a game or a flight of fancy.

“It’s not pity, it’s human compassion.” Retorted Mickey. She moved towards to the Master, looking calm, as if trying to soothe an animal.

“Well I haven’t been shown any compassion since I was little.” The Master hissed. It was a wave of cold, deep anger that consumed the Master and she couldn’t control it, she didn’t want to control it. She felt like how she did before the Doctor tossed her to the side: a true Master. Oh, all the planets and people she had destroyed with this anger.

Mickey took a step back, apprehensive, deciding on what to do next before she thoroughly invaded the Master's personal space. It was both intriguing and startling. When prey was usually caught by a predator, they would run or beg but no, her little dove had courage. Mickey took the Masters hand in hers and the Timelord felt her anger recede, replaced with a sort of numbness or emptiness. She could’ve done something that would’ve pushed Mickey away forever in her rage. She didn’t want to lose Mickey.

“Neither have I until now but I’m still here.” Said Mickey. Her eyes were wide with adoration and kindness and tears, a gentle, watery smile adorned her face. She wrapped her arms around the Masters's neck, bringing the Master down into a hug. “And I’m not leaving you.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes before Mickey pulled the Master towards the bed. She took off her shoes before laying back in the bed, patting the space next to her. Was this…was this a cuddle? The Master had never cuddled, even after having sex. Removing her shoes, she climbed into Mickey’s embrace. Her head resting Mickey’s chest as she listened to the rhythm of her single heart. It was soothing and the Master concluded that cuddles were really, really good. A hand carded through her hair.

“Do you have any nail polish?”

“Yes, I do. Why?” Queried the Master, her voice sounding a little sleepy. She tilted her head up so she could look at the human, an eyebrow raised in intrigue. The answer was obvious; Mickey wanted to paint her nails but there was something else.

“I want to be Michaela Owens again.” She declared and the Master admired the determined look on her face.

“Well, I’m sorry, love, but it’s gonna take a lot more than nail polish to turn you from a docile housewife to a single, modern woman.” The Master extracted herself out of Mickey’s arms, sitting on her haunches and studying the woman in front of her. If she was single then the Master could easily swoop in and claim her (not that her marital status was stopping her now)

“The obvious would be getting rid of the husband wouldn’t it?” Mused Mickey, a smirk on her lips and the Master took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to lie, she was turned on. Mickey with her clothes rumpled, hair wild and the Master's lipstick on her neck was temptation already but alluding to murder, oh that spoke to the Master soul. Gods, she needed Mickey now. Give her time, she’s not ready yet, whispered that Doctor-like voice in her head.

“Whilst I do agree that murder is an adequate solution,” the Master straddled Mickey’s waist and stroked her doves face, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “you reek,” she leaned forward, placing her body weight onto her arms either side of Mickey’s head and the woman placed her hands on the back of the Master's thighs, “of a little man with control issues.” Her lips brushed against the human’s beneath her. “Let me get rid of his influence. Let me make you mine.” Ah, the Timelord possessiveness.

“How?” It was a breathless response, Mickey blushing heavily. The Master enjoyed seeing the woman like this; a constant blush adorning her face and neck, her heart beating so fast the Master could hear it.

“Firstly, getting you into a shower.” Chuckled the Master as she pressed a kiss to Mickey’s lips before gleefully prancing away to the bathroom. She heard her dove groan while she turned on the hot water tap. One thing that carried throughout the Master’s regeneration was their love of teasing. They’d dangle information in the Doctors face before ripping it away. The Master's performance as O was a perfect example.

“Why a shower?” called Mickey from the bedroom.

“Because I’m not joking. You really do smell of a forties housewife.”

“That’s Chanel no.5!”

“Yes, and he picked it, didn’t he?” the Master pulled out some towels, placing them onto the sink counter. She then grabbed the fluffy bathrobe the hotel provided before returning to Mickey. The woman was sitting on the bed, crossed legged, trying to get all the hairpins and knots out of her hair. The Master put down the bathrobe next to the woman and grabbed a hairbrush. She helped pull out a few more pins and then started to brush out Mickey’s hair, starting at the ends.

“When you mean by making me yours, ” started Mickey. She seemed a little nervous as she played with the hem of her dress. “do you mean you’ll tell me what I’ll wear and how I’ll act? Because right now, that’s what you’re doing. You’re acting far too much like Ralph and I don’t want that.”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant.” Ok, maybe a little bit but the Master was in no way wanting to be like the pathetic rat her dove was married to. She continued to brush through Mickey’s hair, “I just want to help you be you. Like you said earlier, you haven’t been Mickey Owens in a long time and I’d quite like to meet her, meet you again.”

“So you’re giving me a makeover then?” Mickey asked and she turned so she was facing the Master. She looked conflicted.

“Yes, I am. You don’t need to be scared. All I’m gonna do is let you have free reign of my wardrobe,” so I know you’re mine, “and do your makeup but you can choose what I do, ok?” The Master smiled, please agree, please agree, I need you to agree, please Mickey. Be mine.

“Ok. Do your worst, Harriet Saxon.” Agreed her dove, a cheeky grin on her face and the Master grinned back. Oh, how she longed to hear her real name fall from Mickey’s lips.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW at beginning
> 
> As always, Aussie is my beta and thank you!

“I’m going to be very honest here…I’m surprised that you have skirts.”

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Well, you’re always wearing trousers so I assumed you only have them.”  
Mickey stood in front of Harry’s wardrobe, hair fluffy and wrapped up in a bathrobe. Harry was lounging on the bed like a cat with her legs and arm stretched out, watching her intently. Mickey couldn’t help the blush that dusted her cheeks and neck. It wasn’t a stare like Ralph gave her (lustful and hungry) and whilst Harry did sometimes look at Mickey like that, her’s was needier. Mickey found she liked it a whole lot more.

“Honestly, I don’t know why I bought them but I’m glad that I did.” Hummed Harry. She quirked an eyebrow and looked Mickey up and down. “If you’re planning on wearing a skirt,” she stood up and moved to a chest of drawers, “I’ve got a pair of fresh tights you can have.” With a gleeful smile, Harry pulled out a packet and practically skipped her way back to Mickey. Mickey took the packet and opened it up, rubbing the thick, black tights between her fingers.

“Why are you so chuffed?” Though Mickey sounded sceptical, the northerner’s enthusiasm was infectious and she could help but grin back. She wrapped her arms around Harry’s neck whilst the elder woman placed her hands on Mickey’s waist. Her thumbs rubbed circles into Mickey’s hipbones, a gentle, thoughtful look on her face.

“Nothing.” Came the reply but her eyes imparted something different.

“Nothing? You sure about that?”

“Yes.” Harry gently kissed her. Mickey could spend all day being kissed. It felt so natural and she could not think of a reason why anyone thought it was wrong. Everything was heightened with Harry.

The two women sighed as they pulled away from each other's lips. Mickey felt more flustered than before.

“Let me.” Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper as she took the tights out Mickey’s hands. The taller woman gently pushed Mickey down till she sat on the edge of the bed. She knelt at Mickey’s feet and gently lifted the woman's leg to massage her ankle. Harry’s hands were cool and soothing to Mickey’s hot skin, red from the scorching shower. As Harry started to massage her way to Mickey’s calf, she lent her head on Mickey’s knee, her breath making Mickey shiver in anticipation and spread her legs, allowing the woman to slot herself between them. “Oh, Mickey.” Harry murmured, pressing a soft kiss against Mickey’s inner thigh.

It was a sensual moment with Harry whispering sweet nothings against her knee and inner thigh whilst rubbing her calf. Mickey could help but moan, tilting her head back and placing a hand on Harry’s head. She felt herself becoming more and more aroused, glad that she had the brain cells to slip on her knickers before coming out of the bathroom. She felt the blonde smile through wet kisses and sighed when Harry pulled away.

“Harriet…” She whined and Harry chuckled.

“I want you to feel powerful in your own skin, my dove.” A stocking slipped over her foot and Mickey groaned as those strong hands returned to her leg, siding the tight up to the middle of her calf. “And I hope that soon,” she turned her attention to Mickey’s other leg, massaging and kissing Mickey to madness, “you’ll let me touch you and fuck you and love you.” Purred Harry against Mickey’s thigh. The dark tone in her voice went straight to Mickey’s core and she nearly cried out in need and bit her lip. When Mickey looked down at Harry the woman had her trademark smirk on, obviously knowing the effect her actions had on Mickey.

The other leg of the tight slid up to her calf before Mickey was pulled to her feet by a hand on her waist. She had to place her hands on Harry’s chest, just above her breasts. Their faces were close and Mickey angled her face so she could capture the other woman’s lips with her own. It was a brief kiss as Harry pulled away and knelt down.

Mickey stares down at the woman before her and sighed at the unfamiliar situation she was in It was not a bad scenario just an alien one. She was unsure what to do and so instead, she voiced her thoughts

“Nobody has ever knelt before me. I’m usually the one kneeling.” She whispered as she placed a hand on Harry’s cheek. She liked the feeling she got, looking down at wide eyes. It was power like Mickey had never felt before and it was addicting. She wanted, no, she needed more.

“Stick with me, love, and you’ll have millions kneeling at your feet.” Harry purred, pressing a kiss to a thigh. Mickey’s eyes fluttered closed, a shiver travelling down her spine at the image forming in her mind. Faceless people bowing down to her, kissing the ground she walked on with Harry at her side. Oh, it was too good to be true. Mickey deserved to be worshipped. She has put with so much shit that maybe, just maybe, the universe owed her.

“I want that-” she responded, her voice shaking with anticipation, “I want that so bad.” Harry was still at her feet but she was gently pulling up the tights, kissing at exposed skin as she travelled up Mickey’s legs. Mickey groaned and gripped Harry’s hair making the woman hum.

“Oh I know you do sweetheart.” Harry stood up and pulled the rest of tights up, resting her hands once again on Mickey’s hips. “You deserve to be worshipped.” Mickey nodded in agreement though it was a little shaky. Millions seemed like an exaggeration now that she thought about it but Harry’s voice was so serious yet sweet. She truly did mean millions.

Some boys promise their girls a family or a house. Harry promised her the world.

-/-/-/-/-

The Master meant it. She would come back for Mickey in her TARDIS and they’d traipse around the universe, chaos in their wake. Yes, yes she would. She would, wouldn’t she?

Mickey would be old, maybe even dead by the time the Master finally caught up to the Doctor. They’d have been split apart by time, the Master having too much and Mickey not enough. The pain would be too much, the sweet memories of now turning to bitter dust. _No, I won’t come back for her _.__ Sadness filled her entire body and she pulled Mickey against her, wrapping herself around the human. She nuzzled her nose into Mickey’s hair. She smelt like her shampoo and tears started to spring her eyes. _Oh, how weak you make me, my sweet, sweet dove._

“What’s wrong?” Mickey shifted so that her mouth was near the Master’s ear. Somehow, it made everything seem more intimate and it almost broke the Master completely. She had spent millennia after millennia not letting anybody get close to her, shutting her emotions down and compartmentalising every single event that would have forced her into some sort of break down. That was what they were taught since they were Timetots: don’t be scared or happy or in love, just be power.

Then there was the Timeless Child. Her. They. The Master.

And Mickey.

“…Nothing…” _Everything._

“Alright.” Her tone, whilst feigning acceptance, meant that Mickey knew what was wrong or at least knew that something was wrong. The master was so grateful that she didn’t press any further. That was a can of worms she did not want to open yet.

A few weeks as nothing but a human to Mickey and planning a murder was the real holiday here. A break from the constant planning and backtracking. The time that the Master had been searching for; the years where the Master would love and be loved.

Gods, she needed a therapist.

“I think lunch might be soon.” Mickey’s voice was soft and gentle, her hand gently stroking the back of the Master’s neck, making the Timelord shiver. “It’s soup and cheese sandwiches. What is it with these Americans and cheese? Everything is covered in cheese.” she laughed at the end, trying to fill the silence. The Master chuckled too. Mickey was right, they did put cheese on everything.

“Honestly, I have no idea.” And with that, the Master released her dove, quickly turning away to dab at her eyes with the back of her hand. Watery eyes meant watery mascara and it was a bitch to clean up. She’d have to reapply her makeup.

A hand turned her head and Mickey brushed a stray tear with her thumb.

“You've see my tears so please, don’t hide yours. Now tell me, please just tell me, what’s wrong?” Her eyes where so wide and filled with so much concern and love. The Master didn’t want to see the love her dove had, turn into hate when she told her who Harriet Saxon really was.

“If I told you, it would fill a whole library, love.” And it was true. Her experiences in the universe were vast, her trauma even more so.

“Oh, alright.” Mickey conceded. She didn’t press further but her face betrayed her curiosity. The Master knew that she would eventually tell Mickey but that would also be the day that whatever was happening between them would be over.

“Go get dressed. I’ll do your makeup and then we can grab a bite to eat, okay?” She stroked Mickey’s cheeks, a thumb rubbing her cheekbones. The woman turned her head, pressing a gentle kiss to the Masters's palm. The Master let her dove go, moving towards the mirror. She heard the gentle, soft thud of a dressing gown falling to the floor. The Master looked up at the mirror and for a split second she forgot how to breathe.

Mickey was stunning.

A few freckles dusted her shoulder blades, painting a constellation on her body that the Master would happily map out for years. The gentle dip of her spine brought the Timelords eyes down to the tights that obscured Mickey’s lower half. The Master felt her mouth starting to water, her control starting to slip.

Mickey had turned her head whilst the Master was, for the lack of a better word, ogling. The human looked both innocent and seductive. She bit her lip and the Master almost groaned. Mickey flipper her hair and turned slightly, exposing that curve of her breast. _Holy Rassilon, Mickey’s gonna kill me before she kills Ralph at this rate._

Mickey smiled, no, it was more of a smirk, before she bent down at the waist, picking up her bra. The Master tried not to look as her patience was wearing thin but she failed. She watched Mickey intently as the human slipped her bra on.

The Master tried to busy her mind and her hands by organising her brushes and her pallets. That also didn’t work and when she looked up again, Mickey was slipping on a black shirt, one of the Master’s favourites. It had the names of the Deca in Circular Gallifreyan stitched in gold on the cuffs on the inside. On the bad days, when her nightmares were excruciating, she would slip that shirt on and just play with the cuff. She would trace their names, letting the memories of simpler, youthful times. It wasn’t much but the echoes were enough to keep her grounded for the day.

She would add Mickey’s name at some point in the future.

When all of the milky skin of the woman disappeared under the black fabric, the Master returned to her task, averting her gaze completely. She got a gentle rub on her lower back when Mickey was done and the Master looked at her, tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

“You ready, Michaela Owens?” Asked the Master. Mickey nodded and the Master moved the woman to sit down in the chair in front of the vanity. The Master was about to start teasing Mickey’s hair when the woman told her to stop. Mickey slipped off her wedding ring and threw it onto the floor. It rolled away under a piece of furniture, possibly lost till they would have to eventually collect it when Ralph returned. For now, though, it would rest in the darkness.

“Do you worst.” Nodded Mickey and thus, the Master did what she did best; transformations.

-/-/-/-/-

Harry had truly outdone herself. It wasn’t much, compared to other women, but it was enough.

Her hair was loose in its natural waves with some of it pinned back. Two stray pieces framed her face and Mickey could not help but smile whenever they swayed when she walked. Hair had always been important to Mickey and for now and hopefully, for the rest of her life, she could wear it down or up or any way she liked.

The skirt was freeing too. It was a peach and white plaid skirt ending mid-thigh, possibly one of the shortest things she had worn in a long time. The skirt wasn’t too tight (she was half a size smaller than Harry) so it did swish a little if she twirled hard enough. No matter what it was, swish was always a good thing in Mickey’s opinion.

Then there was the makeup. Admittedly, Mickey had had a moment of terror when she saw the bright blues and greens of the eyeshadows that Harry owned. Far brighter than what Mickey owned but thankfully, Harry knew that she was apprehensive and went for warm browns instead. _Halfway across the world and Ralph still has control._ A flick of eyeliner and a nude lipstick was finally applied. All that was left was to paint her nails.

Mickey chose a frosted, almost metallic, nude pink that would go with whatever she wore (she intended to keep the polish on for as long as she could) and Harry painted her nails with extreme focus. No excess, no mistakes. Precisely four brushes of the polish and a nail were done. Mickey was in awe of the accuracy and speed in which Harry worked at. _Must be all that spy training,_ mused Mickey _. Must act and think quickly or else._

Only half an hour after Mickey’s little strip show (she needed to pay Harry back for the teasing with the tights) and the two of them were making their way down to the ground floor for lunch.

“So…now that you’re an Owens again,” started Harry once they were in the elevator, “how’re we gonna deal with Ralph? What are your first thoughts?”

“Well, by killing him obviously.” Retorted Mickey. She crossed her arms and shifted her weight onto one foot, popping her hip out. Harry rolled her eyes and Mickey scowled. Oh, this could get condescending quite quickly.

“Obviously,” scoffed Harry. There! There’s that fucking attitude. “I meant, sweetheart, how personal do you want to get.”

“What…what do you mean?” Mickey had no idea what Harry was talking about. Murder was murder, yes? To take the life of another human being it had to be personal. Once again, Harry rolled her eyes but this time, she had a smirk on her face. The taller woman moved closer to Mickey, wrapping an arm around her waist even though her arms were crossed.

“There are things you could do with a sharp object. Stab him repeatedly here, here and here.” Harry poked areas on Mickey’s body; her chest, stomach and pelvis. “Twist the knife in deep.” She pulled Mickey’s hips to her own, making the smaller woman gasp when a knee spreader her legs. Harry leaned in close, her lips grazing Mickey’s ear lobe as she murmured in a seductive tone. “Make him feel the pain you’ve felt for the past two years.” Harry stepped back, forcing Mickey to stabilise herself by a hand against the elaborate wall as the doors slide open to the ground floor.

Harry strode out as if nothing happened and Mickey could not decide if she hated or admired the woman. She could make even murder sexy and everything she did left Mickey feeling damp and wanton. Jesus, she really needed to get Ralph out of her head soon.

Mickey quickly caught up to Harry who, as per usual, look smug.

“How do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Make everything seem like it’s sex or at least, foreplay.” She hissed whilst she tried to keep her composure, now that they were out in the open.

“It’s not me, dove, it’s you.” Respond Harry as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Are you calling me depraved?”

“Your words, not mine, love.”

“Oh, go fu-“

“Mickey! Sweets, over here!” Interrupted the cheery voice of Jean. Mickey was happy to see and talk to her friends but she was enjoying the banter and, judging by the mischievous twist in her lips and glint in her eyes, so was Harry.

The elder woman waved a hand, signalling to the group at their usual table that the duo had heard Jean's call.

“Continue this conversation later then?” Yes, yes they would continue this conversation.

“Before we go to them, I have a question. How do you know all about this? Is it just one of your weird spy habits?” Queried Mickey. She was interested to see how much Harry knew and acted was the real Harry or the Spy. Mickey wanted to know if this woman she adored was real or just a fake identity.

“No, it’s not spy knowledge.” Mickey felt relief flood her as she moved to sit down at the table but then Harry moved her head in a way so that she could whisper something only Mickey could hear. “I’m just the Master of Murder.”

Mickey would be lying if she said that did not make her shiver in a sick sort of pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may end up stopping the warnings (unless it’s bad) as you’ve probably read the tags. Y’all should know by now that’s there’s gonna be a lot more smut coming up


End file.
